


Mercenary

by fourleafedrover



Category: Deadpool - Fandom, Marvel
Genre: Deadpool - Freeform, F/M, Marvel - Freeform, mercenary, villian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourleafedrover/pseuds/fourleafedrover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paid by S.H.I.E.L.D. the Merc with a Mouth gets charged to protect Vanessa O'Conelly: the 26 year old assistant to Governor Ray Thorton and trophy girlfriend of Senator Gregory Killibrew both of which S.H.I.E.L.D suspects to be behind the recent apocalyptic events of New York City. (see profile for more info)</p><p>Characters and their adaptations belong to Marvel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sound of the intercom on her desk crackling to life startled Vanessa O'Conelly from her 3:00 pm daydream.

"Vanessa?"

With a sigh of relief she rubbed the want-of-sleep from her watering eyes and pressed the speak button on the console, "Governor Thorton?"

"I'm sending the Mayor out."

She did a little spin of joy in her wheeled desk chair, jumping up and running in her kitten-heels across the exquisitely laid wood flooring, past the rows of cubicles and stopping at the double doors at the end of the hall. She straightened her skirt, and grasped her clipboard to her chest with regained poser. The door cracked open.

"I'll be seeing you here September third then, Mayor Bloomberg?"

"Indeed you will," the portly little mayor bowed out of the office smiling at her on his way out, "Lovely to see you again, Vanessa."

"Did you get that down?" Governor Thorton turned to her as she was scribbling away on the clipboard.

"Yes sir!" she said beaming at them, "Lovely seeing you as well, Mayor Bloomberg, tell your wife I look forward to seeing her at the Gala tonight."

The Mayor waggled a finger at her, "Keep her close, Ray, this one's a gem! Pray you, let her come teach my assistant a thing or two?"

"Not a chance, Michael! She's all mine. We'll see you this evening."

Vanessa followed Governor Raymond Thorton into his office, closing the door behind her as he filled a crystal tumbler on his mahogany desk with aged scotch. She watched in silence as he raised the liquid to his lips, its burnt orange color matched the hue of his graying hair almost exactly.

"Ray?"

"Vanessa?" his tone was playful, crows feet played at his eyes as he took another drink.

"It's three can I-"

He waved her off with a thickly callused hand, "Go on, I know how long it takes for women to get ready."

"Thank you!" Vanessa gripped her clipboard tighter to keep calm. She was already late for her hair appointment, "Thank you sir, it's a big night for Greg-"

"Why are you still here?" He chuckled.

Whirling around she tossed one more thank you over her shoulder and skated back down the hall, government office workers jumping out of her way, to retrieve her coat from the entry closet. She folded the crisp Burberry jacket, a gift from Senator Gregory Killibrew, over her forearm, pushed in her chair and headed into the hall. With a newly manicured nail, she pressed the crystalline button on the wall, the door opened with an elegant "ding!" and glided into the gilded elevator, heels clacking slightly on the mirrored floor.

A sleek black sedan awaited her below, prepared to whisk her away to the salon and her dress fitting at Dior. As she settled into the heated leather interior she contemplated, not for the first time, her luck that she had gotten the job as Thorton's assistant at the precise moment Greg had chosen to run for Senator. He has strolled out of the elevator wearing a pressed Armani suit, his dark hair slicked back just so and asked her to dinner before she could open her mouth.

Almost a seven months had passed since that day and she still marveled over the perks that came with dating one of New York's most wealthy senators. The coat, the car, the dress: yes, perks indeed.

However, Greg had been so much more than a senator to her: he had swept her off her feet, hand delivering flowers to the office and dressing her in Dolce, De La Renta and Chanel. He had flown her to see her mother when she was in the hospital, rescued her from days traveling the subway and cooking ramen noodles in a tiny apartment.

These things made every public event, every moment calming him down from a rage about voters, worth it. Which is why she would look her best, be her best, at the Lucifer House Gala tonight.

As the car pulled up to Dior on 57th, she looked quickly in her hand mirror, running her hands through her long strawberry blonde hair. Yes, tonight she would be the very vision of perfect for the Senator.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, Vanessa was deposited in front of the New York Palace dressed in a sheath of champagne silk, her hair swept up in an elegant bun and her hand resting tentatively on her phone, awaiting the Greg's call. She paused nervously for a moment on the red carpet that led through the main gates as she was helped out of the car by a white-gloved docent in a tuxedo.

"Miss O'Conelly," he said in a reassuring tone, "Senator Killibrew is awaiting you inside.

She gave a polite smile, "Thank you."

As soon as she had passed the docent there was a flurry of blinding flashes. The paparazzi wouldn't miss an event like this, too much money had been donated to helping New York's homeless. Vanessa paused to pose for photo before continuing as gracefully as possible into the foyer.

There he was, standing at the top of the grand stair, a vision in his custom fit tux. Her heart lit a little as she saw him, but she regained her poise, hiking up her dress to greet him.

"Hello," Greg's dark eyes flashed with pleasure as he leaned in to kiss her cheek, "You look absolutely stunning."

A flush crept up her cheeks as she took his arm, "What do you think of the dress?"

He gave a non-committing shrug that made Vanessa's heart sink into her six-inch heels, "It's alright, I guess."

"You guess? Gregory, this is Dior."

He shrugged again, "All I'm saying is it could use a little something."

"Dior doesn't need anything! It's Di-"

She stopped in her tracks because had pulled out a wide velvet box.

"What's this?"

She let out a little gasp as the box was opened, revealing a decadent string of diamonds, glittering like ice in the Hotel's carefully chosen lighting.

"Dior isn't worthy of you, Vanessa," he said softly, "The Tiffany's Victoria Collection might come a bit closer, however."

"Oh Greg," she whispered, turning so he could clasp the diamonds around her neck, "They're beautiful."

"As are you, now stand back!" he eyed the diamonds, "Perfect."

He offered her his arm and they adjourned to the grand ballroom, Vanessa reassured by the warmth of him through his jacket. She swooned slightly as they entered the Gala, crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, crown molding glistening with gold leaf, the walls soft blues and pinks that soaked up the gold like a sunset. The sweet music of a live orchestra was playing at a reasonable tone. Hundreds of Dior dresses were passing her by, hundreds of tuxedo wearing billionaires she had yet to meet.

Her hand played nervously at her collarbone, as they were escorted to their table, stroking the diamonds for comfort and finding none. It had never quite settled into her soul, this life of glitz and glamour that so many wanted to possess. In fact, it made Vanessa feel rather small. And yet, she did her duty to this lifestyle, shaking the hands of the congressmen, dukes, celebrities, and mayors that sat at the crisp, white table.

After a blur of rapid introductions was an exquisite meal she hardly remembered to taste suddenly there was a tinkling of glass. Governor Thorton was climbing the stairs to the podium, where he struggled to adjust the microphone to his towering height. A metallic tinning filled the room as the microphone came to life.

"It seems the population of New York is growing shorter!" Thorton's grizzly voice boomed across the ballroom, now mingling with laughter. He cleared his throat.

"I'd like to welcome you all to our annual Gala and to thank you, from the state of New York, for being here. Without further adieu, Senator Killibrew."

There was a burst of applause as Greg took the stage, throwing his well-practiced senator's smile back at them.

"I'll admit," he said readjusting the microphone, "I don't have the same problem as Governor Thorton."

Vanessa moaned at the reused joke eternally, the crowd bursting again with laughter.

"Again, thank you all for coming," Silence filled the room as he gestured to his captivated audience, "Today is a very important day for me, and as some of you may know, a very important day for the city of New York. Today the streets are swept clean of eighty-five percent of veterans, recovering drug-addicts and those who could simply use a shoulder to lean on in this economy. Today, my friends, my vision for a better home for New York's homeless, is complete," a silk sheet was lifted over a model of large yellow manor, "The Lucifer's House for the Homeless!" There was hearty rush of applause, "I could not have done this without my beautiful best friend and lover," the Senator reached out a hand in her direction, and she felt her heart jump into her throat, "Vanessa O'Conelly. Nor could I have done it without our generous donor! It is my greatest privilege to introduce to you the man who made all of this possible, ladies and gentlemen: Anthony Stark."

A handsomely tanned man with a well-kept goatee and three-piece suit stood up and removed the aviator-framed glasses he had been wearing with a flourish. The audience once again burst with applause as he took the stage to shake the Senator's hand.

"That's the guy?" Vanessa raised her artfully plucked eyebrows as Greg took his seat, "He came in with at least three women. How much did he donate?

He settled back into his chair and whispered to her, "Two million."

She let out a low whistle.

Greg smirked, "He owns Stark Industries, you didn't recognize the name?"

"Still, two million dollars?"

"Weapons manufacturing is not a very fickle business," he said with a soft chuckle, "He hired his secretary to run the entire Industry, that's her over there sitting with the Strategic Homeland Intervention."

She gaped at an extremely busty woman with dyed red hair; her sleek black dress had a dangerously high slit, "Holy cleavage, Batman!"

Greg grimaced, "No not her, the other red-head."

Behind the busty woman was indeed another, although natural, redhead with a pointed face and a neat heather-grey dress.

"Since her raise, Stark Industries has taken a turn for the generous."

Vanessa picked an olive out of her martini, and watched Stark stroll the stage with an unmistakable swagger of money in his step, "Is this the guy who gallivants around in a suit of amour?"

"The same. He's a brilliant mind."

She chewed on her olive. Two million dollars or no, wearing a suit of armor around Miami was a bad idea. But indeed he knew his game well, the women sitting around their table were dabbing their eyes with napkins as he finished his speech and left the stage.

The music swelled louder, dinner plates were cleared away. Waiters in white began to mingle about, holding shining silver platters towering with full champagne flutes. The Mayor Bloomberg and his wife swayed elegantly out onto the dance floor, followed by several other couples.

"Come," Greg took her hand, "I want to introduce you to some friends of mine."

He led her around the dance floor for a time before being caught up in a discussion about politics with a handsome young man wearing a military uniform. Excusing herself politely, she retreated to the nearest table, where the neat looking redhead Greg had pointed out to her early sat talking rapidly on her phone.

"Tell James Pepper said he's not allowed to bring anyone into the Special Project's Division, I don't care if it's take your child to work day," she said under her breath, bringing a hand to her forehead and sighing, "Tony no longer has the power to authorize those decisions, sir. I'll speak with him myself," she looked up, seeing Vanessa standing there, "Ah, here he is now! I have to go. Yes. I really must be going, bye."

"May I sit down?"

"Please do."

Vanessa took two glasses of champagne from the waiter passing and handed one to her, "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all, you have no idea how much grief you just saved me."

"Busy day?"

"You have no idea. Victoria," the other woman said holding out her hand.

"Vanessa."

Victoria laughed, "I see you also come from the age of Victorian name revival?"

"Unfortunately. Though it seems I'm in the right place for snobbish designation."

She received an easy going smile from Victoria, "First Gala?"

Vanessa nodded, taking sip of fizzing liquid.

"It doesn't get much easier," she chuckled at Vanessa's pained face, "Sorry to say. I've been to hundreds and yet I still forget to wear deodorant."

They laughed about this for a moment, when the Senator appeared at Vanessa's side.

"Care to dance?" he said, looking a little tense.

"Sure," she stood up, "It was nice meeting you Victoria, it's not often we get to connect with normal people is it?"

"Call me Pepper," Victoria's smile made her freckles raise on her even skin, "And listen, if you ever need anything, more normalcy, a drink, anything: here's my card."

Vanessa took it with a smile, and was led away by Greg.

"Making friends already?" he said as they swayed across the dance floor.

She sighed happily as the scent of his cologne washed over her, leaning her head against his, "Trying to."

"Might I cut in?"

They both turned to find Anthony Stark waiting there. Greg chuckled, "Not at all. Just have her back by midnight."

"Good evening, Vanessa," the billionaire said as he laid a hand on her hip and took her hand. He smelled like cologne and vanilla lotion. The stench of success, she thought, suppressing a giggle.

"Mister Stark."

"Please," he said with a coy grin, "Call me Tony."

She gave him her sweetest smile, "Well then, Tony, I'd like to thank you personally for making the Senator's dream come to life tonight."

"I bet you would."

It was somewhat of a bitter statement; Vanessa didn't know what to make of it.

"It looks like you've been enjoying your evening," he said coolly.

She attempted to recover from the offense with a small laugh, "It's a lovely night, I'm so glad they picked the Palace for the occasion-"

"I see the glow of wonderment in your eyes, Miss O'Conelly, all of us have been in your shoes at one point or another," they were moving slightly away from the rest of the dancers now. With a shy glance away from him, Vanessa looked around for Greg. He was nowhere in sight.

"I'm not sure I understand you, Mister Stark."

Tony grinned at someone who passed by, giving them a slight nod of his head but keeping his tone stoic, "Wealth requires defensive warfare, Miss O'Conelly. This lifestyle may appear to be comfortable, but I assure you, if you get too cavalier with your opulence, you might be in for a real... shock."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She said, drawing way from him, she could feel an anxious look blooming across her face. Greg finally came back into eyesight, walking rather rapidly towards her, watching her face carefully as it turned from polite smile to disturbance. Tony, sensing this, turned her away from Greg and leaned quickly into her ear.

"Be careful who you trust."

"Ah, Greg, I suppose you're back for your date," Tony winked as he passed Vanessa off into his arms, "I trust you'll both have a safe evening."

"And you as well, Mister Stark," Greg said, but he had already melted into the crowd, "Everything okay?"

"Anthony Stark is quite the dick," she said, still staring at the place in the mass he had vanished into.

"Yes well," Greg smirked, "None of us like him all that well, but the man has the mind for weaponry. If only he would get off this little 'save the world' kick of his."

"Offensive warfare," she mumbled

"Hm?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking of the time. I feel like I've had too much champagne," she put her hand to her brow momentarily, rubbing out the stress lines she felt developing.

Greg winked at her, moving his lips to her ear, "I think I've had a little too much as well."

In truth, she felt a little dizzy. But the Senator rarely came home feeling anything but tired, preferring to shovel down dinner and have a stiff drink rather than pre-sleep lovemaking. And besides, after her little encounter with Stark Industries she'd rather be anywhere but here, so she gave his arm a little squeeze and led him off to get their coats.

When they returned to the modern loft Greg and she accompanied he tore off their clothes, pushing her down on the bed and climbing on top of her. She listened to his gasps and grunts as he relieved himself from his sexual tension, his chest pounding heavily against her chin.

When it was over, the Senator's breathing was deep, and even she lay there in the dark trying to remember a time that he had made her feel loved. In the end, she fell asleep, because all she could remember was his money.

Maybe Stark was right, with the spotlight turned off a lavish life, all that was left were shades of grey.


	3. Chapter 3

After the opening of the Lucifer House life slowed to a normal pace: Vanessa worked from nine to five and the Senator took a trip downstate where the voters were more indecisive. Her long lunches, usually spent with Greg, were now empty spaces to be filled. Throughout the week, she had eaten with a few friendly faces at the Governor's office. But with an election approaching political conversation was less than friendly, and the thought of sitting with a group of over-opinionated 40-somethings had her rushing for the cafe down the street for privacy.

She ordered a latte and sat at a tiny two-person table by the window, unfolding her newspaper to the scan the front page.

APOCOLYPSE NOW?

STORM SURGES, MASKED MEN

DAYLIGHT SHOOTINGS!

"The city overcome," she read under her breath, "by signals of the end. Read more about how you can protect yourself on page eight."

Vanessa snorted as she threw the paper aside, "Apparently the Times is the new Daily Enquirer."

The barista yelled her named over the screech of the cappuccino machine and she jumped up to receive her coffee, knocking her newspaper off the edge of the table and gritting her teeth as a scalding blue mug was pressed into her hands. She wobbled back on her heels, carefully conscious of the swaying liquid her cup contained. Then, with less grace she blew as hard as she could to cool the coffee within.

"You uh, you dropped your paper."

Vanessa lifted her eyes from her blowing to find an extremely tall man standing next to her table, holding her folded newspaper. She stared.

"Thanks," she said a little too hastily, taking it and immediately sweeping her eyes away from him in good manner. Horrendous scars covered the surface of his face, save for the black glasses that covered his eyes. Cursing herself for letting her eyes linger, she opened her mouth to apologize for being rude but he beat her to the talking.

"You're Senator Killibrew's wife. Miss O'Conelly, is it?"

Vanessa's hands flew to her face in feign surprise, "Goodness, I must have missed the wedding!"

She gathered the courage to look back up at him. He looked a little strained after hearing her pun.

"Kidding," she laughed and held out a hand for him to shake, "It's Vanessa. And only his girlfriend, that I'm aware of."

"Pardon me, Vanessa. In my defense, it's an easy mistake to make the way he speaks of you."

She frowned, "Have we met?"

In all reality, however, there was no way she would have forgotten him if she had been introduced. He was easily six foot tall, fair-haired, and largely muscled under his neat black dress shirt. He had obviously been in some sort of terrible accident. One, however, that had left a strong jaw and a gorgeous white smile perfectly in tact.

"His speech from the Lucifer's Gala was on television."

"Ah," she said with a little bob of her head, "That explains it."

"Mind if I join you? I'm doing my masters in Political Science over at Columbia and I'm a huge fan of the Senator."

"Please," she pulled her purse off the second seat. It wasn't often she got to speak to one of Greg's fans on a personal level. This was her chance to make an impact.

"So what is you do," he said with a chuckle," besides serve as the senator's arm candy at royal balls?"

"I'm actually Governor Thorton's assistant."

His eyebrows raised behind his glasses, "Impressive!"

"Thanks," she stirred sugar into her latte, "I've dappled in political science myself. Columbia's a good school," she offered politely.

He smirked in return, "I know what you're thinking, this guy's a little old to be in college. I got a late start," he wrapped the string of his tea bag around his finger and shrugged, widening his smile, "And I've got to confess, I would love the opportunity to interview the Governor for my master's discussion."

She bit her lip; "It takes a while to get an appointment with him, honestly."

"How long?"

"Six months."

"Ouch!" he grimaced, "Busy man, I guess."

Guilt pooled in her stomach, "I wish I had the power to pull some strings for you, but his meetings are organized by priority," she winced the second the words left her mouth, "N-Not that your school is of little importance."

His booming laugh filled the coffee shop, "Oh I see how it is! Well, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Can I get an interview with you? You wait on him hand and foot right? You must have some idea of what's going on in there," he gestured to his temple.

She pursed her lips.

"Sure why not. I've got some time Monday at one, why don't you stop by then."

"You're my hero."

The slight warmth of flattery crawled up her neck, as she pulled out her pocket calendar, "Well, I've got to get back to work. Let me just pencil you in here."

"Oh sure, of course," he stood up, gathering his jacket. She looked suddenly up from her writing, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. Who can I put you down as?"

"Wilson comma Wade," he said with another grin, "See you Monday."

She watched him duck out of the cafe and stride away. Talk about a confidence boost, she thought to herself as she gathered her things smiling. Next comment her mother made about her political science degree being based on gold-digging she would remember this moment. Young, buff, college students thought she was cool. Take that mom.

It was a short walk down Barclay St. to the Municipal building so she dawdled a little, taking her last ten minutes to enjoy the last warmth of the season. She smiled at a large group of tourists hurrying across the cross walk, and turned onto Park, freezing in her tracks.

A group of NYPD had gathered around the street, barricading Park and her route to work.

"Hey!" she walked up to the at the nearest officer, "I need to get through to City Hall. What's going on?"

The cop shook his head, "No can do, lady. Earthquake down this way caused some damage to the plumbing, you'll have to go around," he turned away and pulled out a walkie-talkie.

"I'm a government employee!" Vanessa pulled her ID out of her wallet, shoving it in-between his eyes and the hand-held he was about to speak into. He gave her a look of irritation.

"It's an earthquake lady," he said, his mustache bristling, "Like I said before, you'll have to go around."

He clicked the talk button, muttering into it as he walked away from her.

"Damn," she chewed her lip in exasperation. Now she was going to be late for the Thorton's appointment. She took out her phone to call him, glancing at the screen and finding it dead, "DAMN."

Broadway was also closed off so her only choice was to turn around and take the long way down Church. She hurried back down Barclay, heels grinding her ankles to blisters and cursing herself for lollygagging after the encounter in the cafe.

"Damn you hubris, OUCH, damn you young, buff, Columbia guy."

Her curses were drowned out by a loud grumbling coming from below her feet.

"What the-?"

She paused just in time: the world bounced briefly, her heels trembled clear off the sidewalk, sending her running for the nearest doorway. Another earthquake. She reached down and removed her high heels, shielding her head from the bit of glass that fell from the windows above.

Vanessa debated options, her heart thumping hard in her chest. She could stay here under the safety of this door way. But Church was just a street ahead, a busier street at that, she could find police there and ask them for a safe place to wait out the trembling from below. Since the birds had begun chirping again, she decided this was her best option, cautiously creeping out of the doorframe in her bare feet. Just as she made the decision, chaos ensued ahead. The citizens of New York were tearing through the streets, the sound of screams becoming louder as she closed in on a horrific scene.

Church Street had been rent in two. Concrete blocks from the neatly laid sidewalks were now rubbish piles thrown against the nearby buildings, a gaping hole exposed in the asphalt where it had buckled under the pressure of the quake. There were bodies in the street.

Vanessa ran through the fleeing crowd onto the street, raising her arm to shield her face from the thick cloud of debris in the air. She paused at the first fallen person she found, a grown man, checking for a pulse. Nothing. She tripped backwards, gagging, and was thrown aside by a crowd of screaming people.

"Hey!" she screamed, scraping her hands on the concrete as she scrabbled to stand again. For god's sake, there was no need to panic; the earth was still once more.

Then she heard the unmistakable bang of a gun being fired.

For from under the city streets a man was emerging, his face concealed by a woolen mask, his thick hands wrapped tightly around a rifle. It was at that moment she realized that the street around her was silent and empty: she was alone, staring down the barrel of a masked mans gun. She found her sore feet glued to the surface of the torn asphalt; any thought of running had left her as she froze like a rabbit hunted by a cat.

The terrorist stared at her, raising his gun as he crunched across the debris towards her. Vanessa could almost read his expression as his eyes traveled over her, "That's it? This is the pathetic stand New York has taken?"

His smile grew beneath his ski mask. She could feel her heart stopping already, a dull roaring claimed her ears. The last thing she would ever hear, she thought fleetingly.

A Helicopter.

The roaring of the helicopter was so loud she clamped her ears over her head. The man with the gun looked momentarily perplexed, gun slackening in his hands as the machine flew in hard and fast.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY!"

Vanessa turned to find the source of the voice and screamed, ducking as a blur of red and black hurtled over her head. Another masked man was dropping from the sky.

He hit the asphalt with a loud crunch and stalked towards ski-mask who raised his gun warily.

"Shoulda checked the weather today, folks," he said in a perfect newscaster's voice, "Forecast today cloudy skies and a one hundred percent chance of Deadpool," he ducked out of the way of assailing bullets and kicked the gunman square in the chest.

Vanessa let out a scream as the gunman flew back, his gun going off with a bang and cracking his head on a piece of uprooted concrete.

This new threat turned at the sound of her voice. He was dressed in a ridiculous sort of costume, tight fitting with heavy boots and a full artillery belt slung low on his muscular hips. Two sleek katana swords were strapped to his back. His face was masked in a red stocking mask; two black spots surrounded the phosphorescent glow of his eyes, giving him the appearance of a deranged raccoon. And as he caught sight of her, the spot where his eyebrow would have been raised in shock, "Holy..."

Vanessa was still rooted to the ground in horror as he approached her.

"Uh, hey pretty lady," he held up his spread hands, "This isn't what it looks like. I'm a bonafide gentleman usually. I swear. Really."

"You stay away from me," Vanessa's voice shook as she raised her hands to guard herself.

"I mean, on the other hand, we could just consider this awkward encounter the perfect opportunity to get to know each other. I could just get your number and then we could share a plate of nachos at this little place I know and then go back to your place and-"

Another gunman had immerged from the gash in the city streets, cocking his gun with a loud click. The man in red held out a hand to them.

"Where are your manners? There is a lady present. Plus I'm trying to seduce her so if you don't mind."

He turned back to her, "As much as I would love to get a piece of that action," he said pointing down at her with both of his gloved fingers curled at his chest, "You gotta leave."

The man on the left screamed out in an indiscernible language and released half a magazine of bullets into the air.

"Fine, okay. We can skip nachos. But really, time to get cho' bitch ass outta here."

He cocked his hip and pulled out a handgun.

"YO! EARTH TO LITTLE LADY," he waved his gun in her face, "Alright enough is enough."

He reached around, grabbed her by her rear and shoved her into motion. It was enough to make Vanessa remember how to move. She turned around and punched him in the middle of his masked face. He yelled, as her hand crunched into what she assumed was his nose, hands flying up to access the damage.

There was a bang as the guns went off for a second time and suddenly she could see right through her assaulters' forehead. Blood was flooding down his mask, pooling in the hollows of his eyes.

Vanessa gaped, stepping back as he swayed in place.

But instead of dropping dead, he whirled around, held up his gun, and shot the man down.

"DAMNIT, Fury is going to kill me," he poked her in the shoulder, "See what happens when you don't listen to Deady?" he said pointing at the bleeding bullet hole in his head. Then suddenly the world was suddenly spinning, lights flickering at the corners of Vanessa's eyes. She toppled over in a dead faint.

"OH COME ON, I have tickets to see Hannibal the-at-re tonight."

He pulled a cell phone out of his utility belt and pressed a few numbers, raising it to his ear with a drawn out sigh. A crowd was starting to gather at the scene of the crime.

"Hey Nicky! So, I uh, got the dead chick if you wanna come get me now..."

He held the phone away from his ear as a slurry of curse words spilled out of the receiver.

"Ohhhh you wanted her alive," he gave Vanessa a kick in the arm with his boot, "Yeah well, she looks pretty dead to me."

There was a roar of a helicopter overhead, "Just kidding, Fury, she's alive! Kay, I love you, bye. SAY IT BACK," he shouted over the screams reverberating from the phone, "SAY IT BACK. SAY. IT. BACK," and he chucked the cell to the ground, swinging Vanessa's body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Ugh, women," he said at her lifeless body, stepping into the helicopter as it touched down to carry them away.


	4. Chapter 4

The distant sounds of the city reached Vanessa's ears as consciousness seeped into her being. Her hands, leadened by the deepness of her sleep, stirred a little. And then she slowly opened her eyes, wincing a little at the brilliant sun streaming past the large oval object that obstructed her view. Two white eyes blinked back at her.

"Heya, toots!"

"AHH!" Vanessa punched upward into the masked face staring down at her as hard as humanly possible.

"OW!"

As she scrambled to her feet and a wave of lightheadedness swept over her. She grabbed her head and held it steady.

"You have got to break that habit," said the man in red, adjusting his broken nose back into place for the second time.

"What do you want from me?" she said, exasperated, lifting her head from her hands, "And how," she said glancing around her, "did we get up here?"

They were standing on the barren rooftop of an apartment complex, the city of New York gleaming from all sides.

"I thought we could use a little privacy," he waggled his eyebrows at her as he sat on the raised edge of the roof, "Also, you're my latest assignment."

"Excuse me?"

The door to the floors below wasn't far away, Vanessa had half the mind to run for her life. But her kidnapper was stretching out luxuriously on the lip of roof, propping his hands under his head and crossing his feet so she decided to get some questions answered.

"I was paid to protect you."

Her thoughts raced initially to Greg. But while the Senator was extremely wealthy, she doubted he was wealthy enough to send a lunatic in a spandex body suit chasing after her in broad daylight.

"By who?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Sheil-?"

"Strategic Homo Illiterates..." his face screwed up beneath his mask, "Fuck if I know."

Something about the acronym sounded familiar.

"Tony Stark," she said plainly.

"Oh you know him?" he said perking up, "Don't tell me you're a stripper? This day just keeps getting better and better!"

Vanessa gaped at him in disbelief, "No of course I'm not a stripper. I met Stark at the Lucifer House Gala this week."

"Well he thinks you need protection," he said crossing his arms, "And when a multi-billionaire self-proclaimed genius in a locked and loaded suit of iron tells you to protect someone, it's a good idea to get your ass in gear."

"I thought the suit was just a metaphor for being king of the artillery industry."

"The suit is artillery, toots. Man oh man if I could get my hands on some of Stark's weaponry..." he gave a wistful sigh.

"So what's this S.H.I.E.L.D. have to do with anything?"

"Iron Man and his cronies team together to ninja chop evil in the name of Eye-Patch MaGee!"

"Ninja chop earthquakes you mean," she corrected.

His laugh boomed across the rooftop, "Earthquakes? These were planned terrorist attacks sweetums."

She was beginning to put things together now in her head: Stark in his suit of armor, the strange sightings of masked men and women in brightly colored body suits, terrorism, this character in front of her.

"So what are you, like, a superhero?"

He turned to lean on his elbow and winked at her, "If that's what gets your jollies."

She grimaced. He grimaced back.

"I'm no hero."

"Then wha-"

"Mercenary. I don't work for free like those sugar-plum fairies up at S.H.I.E.L.D. I kill whom people want to see dead and I get paid," he said stroking the gun on his hip in an explicit fashion.

"So what you're telling me," she said slowly, "There's an entire geek squad of super heroes cavorting around the country and I'm stuck with you?"

"Daddy Deadpool, at your service, kitten," he smacked his own arse, hopping up and doing a little dance around the roof.

"Well I don't need protection, and I want nothing to do with you so if you'll excuse me," she dusted herself and started staunchly off towards the door.

"Er-" Deadpool jumped up and darted in front of her, "No can do, lady, you see, if I don't do my job I don't get paid. Besides," he said with a flourish of his hands, "I just saved your life."

"Fine," she said with a thin lipped smile, "Thank you for your unnecessary services. Now go away."

She stepped around him, concealing how shaken she was by the whole experience, starting towards the door again.

"Well I can see I'm not wanted here," he started towards the edge of the building, "Later, toots."

And with that he jumped.

Vanessa stifled a scream and hurtled to the edge. And there he was: sailing away into a distant window suspended by a grappling hook.


	5. Chapter 5

Vanessa felt very far away as she stared into the oblivion that was New York City from the roof of an apartment high-rise. A fallish wind was picking up from the south off Lower Bay and it rushed straight through the newly torn holes of her cashmere cardigan, tousling the dirty hem of her skirt. She wrapped her arms around herself, unsure of what to do. What does one do after a miraculous escape from an attempted terrorist attack? She pulled the hem of her skirt down and resolutely decided that there was no going back to work.

Barefooted now, her Jimmy Choo peep-toes long lost in the skirmish, she crossed the barren roof to the door downstairs and hauled it open. To her surprise, an instantly recognizable hardwood hall met her. She hit the button for the eighth floor in the elevator and as it slid open soundlessly, she gasped with relief at the sight of her apartment door. Kneeling on the floor, not thinking to worry about her now run-ridden panty hose, she pried the spare key from under the doormat.

The door to Gregory Killibrew's chic eighth floor loft opened with a click, and Vanessa collapsed against it. The apartment was still and empty in his absence; save for the television, which she had carelessly left set to the news as she rushed out that morning. She set the key on the breakfast bar, plugged her cell phone into the wall, and hit the power key.

5 missed calls.

She dialed the Governor's office and prayed for the best.

"Hello?"

"Jean?" said Vanessa, recognizing the voice of the pudgy cubicle worker that took the Governor's calls when she wasn't in, "It's Vanessa."

"Vanessa! Oh my gosh, are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine," she said, puzzled, "Just calling to let the Governor know I couldn't get back because of the earthquakes-"

"Vanessa, you're on the news!"

"What?"

She yanked her phone from the wall and crossed to the living area. On the television was a bird's eye view of her facing down the gunman. Underneath the footage was a bar that labeled her as an "unknown civilian." Hardly listening to Jean rambling in her ear, she picked up the remote and unmuted the volume.

"The attacks have ceased since this mornings outbreak," said the newscaster, "Governor Thorton and the New York Police department assure us that the subway and sewer systems are being guarded twenty-four hours a day to prevent future infiltration."

The footage switched to Governor Thorton standing upon a podium, publically thanking the NYPD.

"Next, learn how to protect yourself from attacks such as these..."

Vanessa wasn't listening anymore. Thankfully, they had left out the part where a spandex-wearing mercenary had swept out of the sky and kidnapped their "unknown civilian."

"Vanessa?"

"Sorry Jean," she sighed, "I'm alright. I'm fine. The police got there just in time. Listen, I've got to go, just let the Governor know what happened."

"Oh you poor thing, of course I will."

Her phone died again that second and she tossed away, heading to the bathroom, pulling off her clothing as she went.

It was a solid thirty minutes before she emerged from the shower overheated and exhausted. When the steam cleared, she was still standing there in the bathroom, staring at her distorted reflection. She wished today had never happened.

At that moment, the events of the morning caught up with her, and she succumbed to the tears that rolled down her cheek: tears that should have appeared when she was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun or waking atop the building. How frightened she had been! And to think, some girls dreamt of being swept away by heroes.

At that thought, she opened the mirror, taking out a jar of face lotion and turning the tap to cold. She washed her face clean of tears, patting her skin dry with a fluffy towel and closed the mirror.

There was someone standing behind her.

"Vanessa?"

Vanessa screamed and pressed her back to the sink, her towel slipping halfway down her body. A startled Senator Killibrew stood in the doorway.

"Greg! You scared me half to death!"

He chuckled at her appearance, and she smirked, pulling up her towel and moving to find some undergarments.

"You weren't supposed to be back from the country for another two days."

"I didn't expect you to be home," he said setting down his suit-coat and suitcase on the bed, "I wanted to surprise you."

"Well I'm certainly surprised!" she said, pulling a camisole over her head, "How are the voters?"

He was taking dress shirts out of his suitcase now, hanging them on the back of the bedroom door for dry cleaning.

"What?" he looked confused for a moment as he took a book out from underneath his clothing, "Oh they're alright. Fickle, as always."

"Light reading?" she giggled at the physics textbook he was holding.

He laughed, "You know me."

She did, and so did the people of New York. Senator Killibrew's was known for his unusual choice in post-graduate programs: PhD in physics and political science at Cornell University. It had gotten him nicknamed the Dr. of Politics by every new station in the country.

"I've got some bad news," he said casually, setting his suitcase aside.

"What's that?"

"I've got a conference in Ohio, which is why I cut the tour so short."

"When?"

"I leave Sunday morning."

Vanessa tried her hardest not to look disappointed, "Oh."

Greg gave her a pat on the shoulder, "You'll be okay," he said as he passed, "We've got dinner reservations at eight.

"Alright," she said quietly, pushing in her dresser drawer. She stood there for a moment, listening to him fidgeting about in the kitchen, thinking.

Another week alone, she thought, biting her lip, another week of an empty apartment, a half-empty, king sized bed. After her day, it was a terrifying thought. She did not wish to spend her evenings with the doors locked up, the windows drawn, and hiding under her sheets. On the other hand, she decided telling him about her day might make him stay, and she'd rather face her silly fears rather than upset his career.

Her eyes wandered to the stack of miscellaneous rubbish that she took out of her pockets each day. Among the receipts, tangled bits of jewelry and hair elastics, a metallic silver business card was just visible. It was time to put these fears to rest.

"You coming?" said Greg, peering around the door with remote in hand.

"You go ahead," she said, picking up the house phone, and closing the door, "I've got to make a call."

Vanessa dialed Virginia Pott's number and put the phone to her ear.

There was a short dial tone.

"Stark Industries."

There was a short pause as Vanessa gathered her wits: at first, she thought she was talking to an automated system.

"H-Hello?"

"Pepper is not currently available, miss," the voice said, "May I direct you to her voicemail?"

"Um," she debated her options, "Can I speak to Tony, please?"

"Paging Mr. Stark," the voice said, "Mr. Stark is not currently available, would you like me to record a message, Miss O'Conelly?"

"How did you know my-" she shook her head, "Never mind. Yes. Have Pepper call me back. Please," she added after a pause.

"As you wish, Miss O'Conelly. Would that be all?"

"Yes," she sighed and sat on the bed.

"Thank you for calling Stark Industries, have a pleasant day."

All that was left to do was wait.


	6. Chapter 6

Monday came sooner than Vanessa had hoped. As anticipated, she had spent her first night alone with every light in the apartment turned on and slept with her cell phone curled in her hand. But the bright morning sun brought a new hope, and although she dressed with puffy eyes, work offered a distraction from the Senator's absence.

She arrived at the Municipal building with a confident smile, hoping to dispel any questions about the events of the prior week. However, to her surprise the office was running business as usual, she didn't receive more than a couple of polite head nods as she entered.

In fact, she felt like she was being ignored.

She sat at her desk and opened her planner. It was then she heard the squeaking in the usually empty cubical behind her. Ignoring the disturbance, she picked the phone off the hook and dialed her voicemail. The squeaking increased. Frowning, she put the phone back on the hook.

Jean passed her desk.

"Morning Jea-"

The portly blond gave her a curiously timid smile and kept walking.

"Or not..."

The noise from the cubicle behind her was now so annoying she stood up resolutely and walked around to peer in.

"What is going on in here-"

And there he was, clad head to toe in red spandex, spinning round and round in the desk chair with his feet pulled up to his chest.

Vanessa's jaw dropped.

Deadpool stopped spinning, "Oooh pencil skirt, kinky!"

"Are you seriously following me?" she hissed.

"Chill out, toots," he leaned back in his chair and put his booted feet up on the abandoned desk, "Just doin' my job. And gettin' paid."

She glared at him.

"Oh come on I saved you from certain doom, this is the part where you thank me with sexual favors."

His eyes glazed over as he said this.

"God UGH you are such a-" Vanessa lowered her clenched hands and took a deep breath, "Listen, I don't need your protection, I don't need ANYONE'S protection. I'm not going to run into terrorists in the streets again any time soon so if you'll just please leave."

"Are you giving me permission," he said sitting up, "To pawn this then?"

He pulled the string of diamonds Senator Killibrew had given her on the steps of the New York palace out of a pouch on his waist. She had been wearing them when he saved her last week. She snatched them out of his hand.

"Get. Out."

The moment she pointed to the door the elevator dinged open and the Governor of New York strolled in.

She panicked and dropped beneath the top of the cubicle, cramming herself in between the desk and his desk chair.

His eyes widened as she dropped between his knees, "I like where this is going."

Vanessa snarled and grabbed him by the ear. He growled.

"THIS ISN'T WHAT I MEAN WHEN I SAY I LIKE IT ROUGH!"

"I swear to God if I lose my job because of you..."

She dragged him out of the cubicle, pulling him around the row of desks that lined the hallway to the Governor's office. At the end of the aisle she stopped, peering over the printer that was parked there. Thorton was unlocking his office.

"Just wait here until he goes in," she whispered angrily.

He was rubbing his ear gingerly, "Is this how you treat all the guests? Drag them around the office and dump hot coffee on their heads and then-"

"This is the GOVERNOR of New York," she whispered-hissed, "Now if you'll shut up-"

"What am I not good enough to meet your boss? I'll have you know-"

"If you haven't realized you're wearing a body suit."

"THIS is a very expensive uniform," he said gesturing down his body with a look of resentment, "And I wouldn't want to meet your stupid boss anyways. I hate that guy."

She smirked, "I take it your not Republican?"

"Gingers have no souls," he said pointedly, "Hasn't television taught you anything?"

The printer roared to life. They both looked at it in shock.

Jean came round the corner, humming "Tip-Toe Through the Tulips," holding a file folder. She stopped dead when she saw them squatting there, eyes bugging.

Vanessa was at a loss for action, "Er... This is my brother, Jean," she said slowly. Then on a spurt of inspiration she raised a hand and whispered behind it, "He's not all there."

She elbowed him in the rib.

"Oof! Wha- OH!" he crossed his eyes and pulled a face, "Durrrrrr."

Jean backed slowly up around the corner.

"Oh thank God," she scuttled around the printer and started towards the elevator.

"So crazy idea," Deadpool said as she pushed him into the elevator, "You and me get a drink sometime," she reached around into the elevator car and pressed the ground floor button, "I mean I'm a little low on cash right now so let's just say you'll pay this time and then-

The elevator doors were closing.

"No, no you're totally right let's just call a rain check on the drink and INSTEAD pick a bottle of Jack up from the corner and go to town-"

She smiled cynically at him as the doors to the elevator shut in his face, "Bye."

Vanessa hurried back to her desk and delved underneath it, digging under her coat for her purse, hoping to store the diamonds in her wallet.

"Stupid S.H.E.I.L.D. Stupid spandex-wearing OUCH!" she bumped her head as she pulled her purse from under the mess.

"Vanessa?" said a voice from above. She emerged with her hair askew and tights twisted. The man she had met at the coffee shop was standing in front of her desk.

"Hello, Wade," said with a sigh, wielding a fistful of diamonds in one hand and her purse in the other, which happened to be spilling tampons all over her desk.

"Monday at one right?" he said with a look of concern, "Sorry I'm late."

"Oh gosh," she said sweeping her frazzled hair back self-consciously, "No it's fine."

"You alright? I can come back at a later time..."

"No, " she said resolutely as she stuffed the diamonds into her purse, "No let me just... get my act together here. Why don't you just follow me," she said heading back to the empty cubicle. She gestured to the chair, and when he sat, it creaked in protest. She raised a shaky hand to her forehead.

"Um so," she hesitated, "What are we doing again?"

"I'm here for an interview," he chuckled, "And you're getting your act together."

"Right," she laughed, "Too dark in here for you?"

He was still wearing his sunglasses.

"What?"

She pointed, "Do you ever take those things off?"

"Oh," he pushed his glasses up farther on his nose, "I'm blind."

Giving him a searching look she opened her mouth without thinking, "How do you get around so well?"

"I just told you I'm blind and you're asking how I get around?"

"Er..." Vanessa wanted to hide in a hole. Five minutes into their meeting and she had already committed the faux pas of a lifetime.

He burst out laughing, "Partially, blind. Just partially," he pointed to his eyes, "Light sensitivity."

She hid her face in her hands, sure that the heat creeping up it meant it was flooding red, "Jeeze. I am so embarrassed."

"No, really, it's alright. I get it all the time."

"I am so sorry," she said uncovering her face, "Can I request a redo?"

"Sure," his smile widened as he offered her his hand, "I'm Wade Wilson."

"Vanessa," she said shaking it. His rough hand was so large her tiny fingers were swallowed completely. Now that he was here in the scrutinizing florescent lighting of the office, the scarring on his face didn't seem so drastic. Beneath them, she noted with a touch of guilt for Greg, he was quite attractive. He had a thick head of sandy blonde hair that was perfectly tousled, a strong jaw with a once cleft chin and a crooked nose from breaking. The clothes he wore were clean and simple, giving him the appearance of having rolled out of bed looking perfect without really trying. And that wide smile made her stomach turn.

"Hi, Vanessa."

Hearing her name out loud snapped her into focus.

"Hi."

He pulled a notebook and a pen out of his jacket, "Can I ask you a few questions?"

"That's typically the point of an interview."

"Subject resorts to sarcasm..." he muttered aloud, scribbling onto the notepad.

"Hey!" Vanessa laughed. He glanced up and grinned teasingly.

"Alright, alright," he said straightening, "Here's your first question:" he squinted a little at his scrawling handwriting on the page, "How did you begin your career in political science?"

Vanessa bit her lip, "Well I'm only an assistant. It's more of a job than a career."

"One that can lead to very important connections, I presume."

He was right, of course. Vanessa was close with the Governor, he often complimented her on how well she did her job and she had met many politicians this way, many of which knew her by name. She nodded and then wheeled a little bit closer to him.

"Do you want to know the real story?" she said in a low tone, "It's not exactly something appropriate of your discussion."

"Whoa!" his eyebrows soared towards his hairline, "Don't tell me my thesis is going to turn into an exposé on the Governor!?"

"It's not like that!" she felt the color of her skin deepen again, "I had just graduated a few months before and I was waiting tables at this tiny little place in Brooklyn," she laughed, "I had this little black and white television, you know the ones with the antennas?"

"Yeah."

"I would sit on the news channel night after night eating canned soup and watching speech after speech of Thorton's off this crappy little television. One day he came into town, to my school, and since I'm alum I get into lectures for free and I just remember getting so angry-"

"I take it your not a Republican?" he asked with a little smirk. She paused a little, disjointed at such a familiar comment.

"No."

"Sorry continue."

"So I just walked up to him. And I told him that he was an idiot for doing things the way he did."

"Just like that?"

She giggled at his disbelief and shrugged, "Just like that. Or course, being educated and," she sighed, "dare I say it, a great politician, he asked what I thought he should improve on. And so I started listing things."

"So how did you get the job?" He leaned in, interested, his pen slack in his hand.

"He told me I'd make a great secretary and handed me his card. I was sitting in that desk up there next week later."

"You're kidding."

She shook her head.

"I'm impressed," he said, "It's not everyday you find someone so secure in their beliefs they aren't willing to hide it."

"Well," she said quietly, "Mostly I don't know when to keep my mouth shut."

"No," he shook his head a little, "I like that."

Vanessa wanted more. Really? she wanted so badly to ask, you value my opinion?

"Really," he said. It was a moment before she realized she had spoken the word aloud. They were sitting incredibly close for two people who were supposed to be having a professional interview. She could smack her head against the desk for allowing herself to be flirted into letting her walls down. But there was something so incredibly real about Wade Wilson that made him easy to talk to, easy to trust. Maybe it was his sense of humor, she mused.

"Hiiiii there," Jean poked her head around the cubicle.

Vanessa jumped so high her desk chair wheeled backwards, "Jean!"

"Just coming to say hi! Hiiiiiii!" Jean said talking very slowly and waving two inches in front of his glasses.

"Hi," Wade said, raising an eyebrow.

"What's your name?!"

"Uh, Wade," he offered her a hand but she hugged him instead, thrusting her large, giggling bosom into his face. He let out a little "oof!" as his glasses were crushed into it, "I'm so happy you brought your very special brother Wade in today, Vanessa!"

Vanessa put a hand to her face, "Jean-"

"You're special, aren't you?!"

Wade looked like he was on the verge of hysterics. He grinned, "I'd say so! What do you think Vanessa?"

"Jean we have to go now," she said flatly in reply.

"Come back and visit us again!" Jean gave him another bone crushing hug.

Vanessa covered her face again, and whispered, "Please don't ask."

"Wasn't gonna," he said with a chortle as he realigned his glasses.

Jean bounced out of the cubicle. As soon as she was gone, Vanessa was prepared to grovel.

"I'm so sorry-"

"Do you want to get a drink with me this weekend?"

Vanessa felt the heat crawling up her neck again as she turned what had to be fifty shades of crimson. He was looking at her expectantly.

"You know I'm dating the Senator," she said shyly, trying not to look pleased.

"Well," he shrugged, "It was worth a shot, right?"

The half-way smile he was giving her made her want to dive under the desk.

"I wish I could," she said, "Greg is a great guy."

Wade stood up and gathered his coat, "You're a great girl."

And with that, he walked out.

At five, Vanessa left the Governor's office scowling at the afternoon sun. She was headed straight to the gym for a good, stress-relieving run after the day she'd had. Luckily, it wasn't far from her office.

She turned onto the first block, walking past a stretch of department stores glowing with artificial light. Usually she didn't pay them much attention. But today she did a double take as she passed one of the windows when she noticed the manikin stretched out luxuriously on a velvet day bed and wearing a red and black bodysuit under its vintage Chanel gown. She growled furiously and made a beeline down the block.

On the next street, there was a suspicious looking man wearing a fedora and a trench coat. Holding up the newspaper he hid behind was a pair of giant red-gloved hands.

But it wasn't until Vanessa walked into the gym and saw him sprawled across the top of the reception desk, a horrified receptionist speechless behind the desk, that she lost it.

"Workin' out the bod?"

"STOP FOLLOWING ME!" she howled as she threw her id pass at the dumbfounded receptionist.

"Okay, okay," Deadpool said, "I've just got one question."

She stopped dead on her way to the locker-room, gritting her teeth and turned, "What?"

"Girl, tell me," he said propping up his chin under his elbows, "Where you get dat body from?"

She slammed the locker-room door behind her.

Vanessa furiously dressed into a sports-bra and athletic pants, sweeping her hair back and locking her purse into a locker. With water bottle and mP3 player in hand, she wove through the rows of lockers, out the door and into the gym's electrical equipment room. She sighed with relief as the smell of rubber and sweat greeted her. Plugging in her headphones with one hand, she jumped onto the nearest treadmill and pushed the start button.

She hadn't gotten more than five minutes in when the battery on her iPod died. Sighing, she stopped the treadmill and unplugged her headphones. Fine, she thought, they usually play good music in here anyways.

Reverberating through the open room was Will-I-Am's I Got It From My Mama.

Vanessa chucked her iPod across the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Aching and furious, Vanessa trudged into her apartment building, pressing the buttons in the elevator begrudgingly. As she unlocked the door, her ears perked up at the sound of music playing in the loft.

"Greg?" she said excitedly over the sound of RUSH's 2112, closing the door behind her.

She rounded the corner.

Her stalker masked vigilante was kicked back on the leather sofa, blaring the stereo, eating Gregory's favorite pizza flavored Pringles and reading a physics journal. On the television, an attractive woman was having sex with her well-endowed dentist. Her anger turned to shock.

"Is that porn?" she said weakly.

"Channel 800!" he crossed his ankles.

She crooked her head as she watched the intricate position on the television, "How-?"

"Shhh, just enjoy," he said cheerfully.

"How on earth did you get in here?" she said as her jaw fell slack. Her gym bag and purse fell to the floor helplessly.

He pulled up his mask and shoved a handful of chips into his mouth, "The key was under the mat."

"Touché," she whispered.

After a hard moment of contemplation she spoke, "You're not going to leave me alone, are you?"

"Nope."

"And you're not going to tell me why S.H.I.E.L.D. has employed you?"

He flicked to the next page, "Classified."

Vanessa pursed her lips. As much as she wanted to fight this, what more could she do? Once she got a hold of S.H.I.E.L.D. maybe she could talk them into telling her. But for now...

She sat down on the opposite sofa from him and reached for the Pringle can, "Give me those."

He threw it in her general vicinity.

"You're reading that upside down, I hope you know," she gestured to the journal as she popped the can open.

"Hey, I'm learning science!" he said, outraged, "Someone's got to make a living for us, roommate."

"Don't call me that," she said scowling and pulled out a chip, "How's your head feeling?"

"What?"

"You got shot, remember?" she waved her chip at him, "And lived."

"Oh yeah," he flicked another page and peered at the next quizzically, "That one took a while to close up."

Vanessa frowned, "Excuse me if this sounds ignorant but, why are you not dead?!"

"I'm trying to learn science," he said irritably.

"So am I!" she exclaimed, "Look if you're not going to tell me about S.H.I.E.L.D. at least tell me about yourself so I have a bit of a reason not to call the police."

"Can't bite the bullet, baby. Breathe my last. Cross the great divide. Give up the ghost-"

"I get it, you can't die. But how is that possible?" she whispered.

"Science!" he exclaimed, "Crazy huh?"

"So you're really, actually, a super hero," she leaned back onto the couch, "Huh. So why don't you have your own gang then?"

"I don't play well with others," he sounded a little bitter.

"I see."

He scratched the back of his head, "More like others don't like to have fun. Bein' dedicated to their work and all that. Stupid."

"So you're not a hero then?"

He fell silent.

"If you're not a hero, what do you do?"

"I kill people," he said over the top of his text-book, white eyes narrowing, "We've been over this."

"Yes but what are your hobbies? Have any kids? Play any sports?"

"Guns. Ogling women."

"There's an obvious explanation for that."

"I'm a dude?"

Vanessa pointed at him with her chip, "Well at first I thought you were a great candidate for Manic Bipolar but now that I'm seeing you eat," she counted off on her fingers, "recklessness, promiscuity, mentally instability and poor social skills," she raised her eyebrows as he shoved a giant handful of chips in his mouth, "spells of uncontrollable eating. I'd say major Borderline Personality Disorder. The obsession with artillery says due to some kind of posttraumatic stress..."

He blinked at her in surprise, "How does she know so much about us?"

"...Which apparently are all symptoms of Dissociative Identity Disorder," she finished wryly, "And to answer your question I was thinking about medical school for a while."

"Wanna play doctor?" he said throwing the journal aside. She ignored him.

"Don't get chip dust on Greg's journals, or I'll have to explain how a man in a body suit was reading them on his couch watching porn," she bit her lip as she thought of him, "And I can't imagine him taking that well."

"Aw these aren't yours?" he said scratching his head, "I had been imagining you in a lab coat. Science chicks are totally my thing."

She wrinkled her nose, "No, they're Greg's. He's an electro-physicist. He rewired the entire apartment by hand."

"Yeah but I have guns. I bet he can't say that."

Vanessa rolled her eyes, "Just watch. Off."

The apartment, wired to voice command, went dark immediately.

"Cool right? On."

But the apartment remained dark.

"It always works," she whispered. She grew uncomfortable being alone in a pitch-black room with a stranger, "Something must have happened to the circuit breaker. On. On. Come on!"

The room remained dark save for two glowing, eye-shaped points.

"I've seen better," the voice coming from them said.

Vanessa ignored him and got up, feeling her way to the kitchen, cursing softly as she banged her hip on the table. She put her hands out when she thought she was close to the breakfast bar, sidled around it and felt for a drawer. It rattled as she pulled it open.

"Aha!" her hands closed around the grill lighter. There was a click from behind her as she pushed the ignition tab, "AHH!"

Deadpool was standing right behind her, gun trained on her face, eyes narrow, "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Are you crazy!?" her shaking hands caused the flame to dance, "NO I'M NOT TRYING TO KILL YOU."

"Oh," he looked slightly crestfallen, lowering his gun a little.

"Put that thing away!" Vanessa made her way to the door, the little lighter flickering out.

"Damn," she said, shaking it, "I wish I had a flashlight."

There was a sudden flare of light, "SPEAK AND DEADPOOL, GOD OF LIGHT, SHALL ANSWER."

"Give me that!" she hissed, grabbing the tiny flashlight from him and hurrying into the hallway. The usually bright hallway had turned to something from a horror scene: the light from the flashlight bouncing as she walked, the sconces hung along the hall casting long, eerie shadows. At the end of the hall, she found the circuit box and yanked it open.

"Okay," she muttered, eyes roving over the labels, "Hallway."

She flicked the switch. Nothing happened.

"Holy shit!" said Deadpool, peering out the window at the end of the hall, "You killed Manhattan!"

Vanessa hurried to his side and looked out. New York had never been more dismal. Not a streetlamp, restaurant sign, nor traffic light was lit. Manhattan had turned into a world of shadow.

He yanked the flashlight back and held it aloft, "THE GOD OF LIGHT WILL SAVE NEW YORK!"

She hurried after him as he thundered back towards the apartment, light disappearing with him. Inside she dialed the police while he danced in front of the window, yielding his tiny flashlight.

"I've got no service," she said flatly, throwing her cell aside, "Cell towers must be out too."

With her lighter, she lit the candles on the coffee table. Then she sat down, ignoring the conversation Deadpool seemed to be having with himself, and waited.

She must have nodded off because when she awoke nearly two hours had passed. When the lights flickered on, she gasped a little, startled out of sleep. The mercenary was silent, curled up on the couch like an oversized toddler. She hurried to the window. Sure enough, Manhattan was slowly coming back to life. In the distance, the sound of several ambulances faded away.

Vanessa immediately dialed the Governor. He picked up after four excruciatingly long rings.

"Vanessa!" He sounded out of breath, but cheerful, "I was just going to call you."

"Ray," she said frantically, "Manhattan just had a massive black out."

"Really?" he said, his voice cracking slightly, "That's terrible."

"More like catastrophic! Isn't that why you were calling?"

There was a pause, "Listen, Vanessa, I'm going to have to take a few days off. Cancel everything for this week-"

"Mr. Thorton you can't just take off after something like this! The press is going to be frantic-"

He interrupted her with a threatening tone in his voice she had never heard before, "Do not tell me what I should and should not do," he gave a menacing pause, "Let me remind you of your place. You were nothing before I took you under my wing. Hold all my calls."

The line went dead.

As her phone slowly lowered from her ear, she swallowed hard, trying to rid her throat of the lump that had grown there. Ray had never been anything but kind to her.

But she wasn't going to dwell on that now; a true politician knew their responsibility to the people, she thought, taking a deep breath. Someone had to do something.

She dialed Greg twice, hoping to fill him in, but the line went straight to voicemail. Her stomach turned. Another thought crossed her mind that made her shake her head in disbelief. Perhaps she should alert this 'S.H.I.E.L.D.'

As if in response, there was a wracking snore from the couch behind her. If a gaggle of men dressed in spandex was going to save New York, it was going to have to wait until morning. With a sigh, she gathered up a throw blanket and tossed it over his body. The she headed to bed.

And despite the chaos ensuing in New York, she slept better than ever.


End file.
